


Decide What To Be And Go Be It

by BetsyByron



Series: It Is The Cause, My Soul [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Child Abandonment, Childhood, Crossover, Exposition, Letters, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Owls, Parent-Child Relationship, Pre-Hogwarts, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2598515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetsyByron/pseuds/BetsyByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles knew he was different long before his letter from <i>Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry</i> came through the attic skylight one morning, as he was lying on his stomach perusing old dusty volumes bigger than his chest, barely making out any of the words in their odd calligraphy on the thick pages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decide What To Be And Go Be It

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I'll write a long continuous fic, but I definitely want to write a lot more in that verse. I will add scenes as I write them (i.e. as time and inspiration allow), not necessarily in chronological order (not that 11 year-olds are not interesting, but I'd rather get closer to _You Can Try to Hide The Sun_ sooner ;p)
> 
> As you can start to see here, I've set this directly in the Harry Potter world (disclaimers, etc.), using some of the characters - some cannon, some I've just decided to give a future! So we'll be seeing some crossover action.
> 
> This is really fun to research and write, so I hope you like it and I'll try to produce more!
> 
> I take prompts!

Charles knew he was different long before his letter from _Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ came through the attic skylight one morning, as he was lying on his stomach perusing old dusty volumes bigger than his chest, barely making out any of the words in their odd calligraphy on the thick pages.

 

_Dear Mr. Xavier,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 st July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Sybil Trelawney_

_Deputy Headmistress_

It was followed by a list of books with interesting names, and supplies that would have belonged in a Halloween party.

Charles doubted the letter, although he was eleven years old and believed in magic, because he’d learnt not to take anything for granted. He replied, on crested paper.

 

_Dear Ms. Trelawney,_

_Although I am honoured by this acceptance letter to your school, I find myself confused by the facts that I did not send an application and have not indeed ever heard of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry. If you would be so kind as to give me a few more details about this offer, I will be glad to purchase the necessary supplies and attend as a student at the beginning of term._

_Looking forward to your answer,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Charles Xavier_

Charles wondered how he was going to send the letter, when he heard a tap on the skylight. An owl. The bird shrieked, then cooed happily, holding up a foot. Charles laughed incredulously, and approached tentatively. _We await your owl_. Well. Charles might have had an IQ that was too high for his own good and a knack for reason and science, there was nothing as delightful as imagining an owl – an owl now snatching the rolled-up paper from his hand and flying away – delivering letters from mysterious schools and back.

The answer came in that very evening; Charles was reading by the window while his mother listened to a radio play, chuckling softly to herself from time to time, and sipped wine. It was a warm summer night, and Charles merely heard a flap of wings before the letter fell from the sky, through the open window and right onto his lap. He looked up, but the (presumably) owl had already flown out of sight over the house.

_Dear Mr. Xavier,_

_Please accept our sincerest apologies for this slight administrative overlook. On account of your father working in close contact with the Ministry of Magic, it was assumed you would have the necessary awareness to receive the letter usually sent to our Wizard-born students. It belatedly came to our attention that Mr. Brian Xavier was no longer in residence with you._

_A member of the faculty will be visiting you soon to explain all necessary arrangements._

_Please be assured of our dedication in the matter._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Sybil Trelawney_

_Deputy Headmistress_

 

Charles felt himself unable to breathe for a moment, unable to blink, unable to think. If this was a joke, it was a cruel one. He looked up to his mother when he felt steady enough to speak, but the question died on his lips. She was smiling – encouraged by the alcohol, sure, but still, she was smiling softly, enjoying her radio play, and Charles didn’t remember when was the last time he’d seen here smile since his father had left them. Almost a year ago, without a word of explanation. He couldn’t – he couldn’t just ask his mother point blank if she knew anything about the Ministry of Magic and if by “business partners” Father had somehow meant wizards all the times he’d been vaguely mentioning his work. Come to think of it, Charles had never quite known what his father did for a living.  

 

He almost didn’t sleep for two days, until they finally had a visitor. It was a smiling woman with dark skin and a long black plait of hair. She was wearing a strikingly green skirt, and a purple shirt embroidered with what looked like… winged balls?

“Good morning.” She greeted Charles, who startled and blushed, realizing he’d been staring with his mouth hanging slightly open. “You must be Charles, it’s very nice to meet you. My name is Padma Patil, I am the Charms teacher at Hogwarts. I’ve come to talk to you about your acceptance into the school.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Patil.” Charles offered her hand for her to shake. She took it with a pleased, curious smile.

“The situation is…” Charles went on, a little embarrassed. “Well. The situation is I haven’t told my mother about the letter. She’s… sensitive, and your deputy headmistress mentioned my father, and she’s _particularly_ sensitive around that subject, I wouldn’t like for her to…”

“Yes, I am aware that your father…” Padma hesitated. “I’m here to talk to you primarily.” She cut short. “If you wish to leave your mother unaware of the nature of your education, this is your choice. The wizarding world is not a secret for everyone to handle.”

Charles nodded, relieved at her understanding.

“We can talk in the library.” He invited her in. “Mother never comes down before noon.”

They talked for almost two hours. Miss Patil praised Charles for the brightness he showed at his age, explained a few of the strange events that had punctuated his childhood as expressions of the magic within him, and told him the essential of what there was to know about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She promised, at his request, to owl him some books and archive newspapers so he could catch up on some history. She also said they would write to his mother from a cover boarding school – Charles assured her she would hardly read it, and barely notice he was gone. Charles could see in the witch’s eyes that she felt sorry for him, although she was trying her best not to pity him. That was what encouraged him to finally ask:

“Is my father a wizard?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t think he’s registered as one, no.” She said. “He’s one of the muggles who works with us closely though. We do need a few high-ups to make up for the numerous screw ups.” She bit her lips, almost giggling. “Sorry. Something we used to say with my sister.”

Charles was more confused by the word _muggle_ , which he made Padma know, brow furrowed.

“Oh.” She said. “Yes. Non-magical people. You’ll be calling them the same in no time.”

“It sounds a bit… offensive.” Charles hesitated.

Miss Patil had a tense smile. “Trust me, there is more offensive.”

 

*             *

*

 

Charles heart was fluttering – he’d always thought he’d describe it as hammering, but it was fluttering, like a mad hummingbird looking to find a way out of its cage.

He was standing in front of King’s Cross, not quite ready to step in yet. He was early – way early. He had nonetheless seen a few probably-wizards whooshing past already, mirroring Charles and his trunks and his black cat, some unlike him even dressed in black robes, and he was sure he’d spotted a couple of pointy hats; yet not a single commuter was looking at them. People see what they want to see.

“I just want to _see_.”

“Raven, you’re not going for another two years, this will just make you-”

Charles turned his head in the direction of the voice, and the man stopped talking. He was looking straight at Charles, who was looking straight at him.

Charles dropped the book he was holding, as if something had to fall if it wasn’t the word that couldn’t escape his lips. _Dad._

Brian Xavier was the first to speak.

“Charles.” He said softly. There was a hint of surprise in his voice. “Of course. You’re almost eleven.”

Beside him, a young girl with striking blue hair – Raven, assumedly – looked from one to the other with curiosity. Strangely enough, the first question pressing against the back of Charles’s teeth was _Who is this?_ rather than _Why did you leave me and what are you doing here_. None of that got out while Charles stared at his father, his throat closing up. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, he bend down to pick up his book, and walked away. It seemed like the best thing to do. It seemed like the only thing to do. Behind him, Brian said nothing – but he heard the girl’s high-pitched voice asking what was _that_ about?

He walked away and through the wall between platforms 9 and 10, as Miss Patil had explained. The platform boarding the vivid red train was still mostly empty, although a few groups of older students here and there were chatting excitedly.

Charles could only guess there would be more commotion than usual on account of the likelihood that Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, the full trio, would be present. He had caught up on wizard history and on the main figures of the past couple of decades – he had, purposefully, not caught up on whatever word there was out there on a certain Brian Xavier. He’d learnt about the war, the battle of Hogwarts and Dumbledore’s Army, he’d read about the big shot Aurors who’d made a career after they’d all but saved the Wizarding world. And he’d found out of course that the next generation of Potters and Weasleys was starting school this year alongside him – Potter’s second son, actually, but the first Weasley child. Well, there were already a bazillion Weasleys there apparently, from all the other Weasley siblings, but the offspring of Ron and Hermione was clearly of more interest to most people.

For Charles, it was just one more thing in this exciting new world that opened up to him. Everything was novel and exhilarating, everything was worth discovering and arriving hours in advance, worth hearing every story and reading every line. At the moment, he didn’t particularly want to see the war heroes and their children. It hadn’t been his war, it felt like intruding. And if, later, he met Albus Potter or Rose Weasley (it was ridiculously easy to find out their names), he wanted to know them for themselves and not judge them for their parents’, admittedly admirable, past deeds.

He was considering climbing in the train already and finding a seat in one of the empty compartments – most people, he assumed, would stay on the platform ogling the man who had been the boy who lived for as long as they possibly could – when he heard his name. He turned, and there was the girl with blue hair. Only her hair was red now, and her eyes seemed almost yellow. 

“It's Charles, right?” She repeated his name.

He nodded. 

“I'm Raven.” She continued. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay. Brian told me... I had no idea he even had a son.”

Charles felt his throat clench again, but he forced himself to speak. 

“Clearly he had better things to do than to remember me.” He said bitterly. 

“I'm sorry.” She looked down. “I know it doesn't excuse him and I know it won't make you feel better but... He's a good man. He's really helping people like me.”

Charles had a sharp comment on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it to instead ask:

“People like you?”

“Muggle-born children whose families are, too say the least, not accepting.” Raven explained gloomily. “I was born a metamorphmagus in a non-magical family, I needed all the help I could get.” She added, wincing.

Charles had no idea what a _metamorphmagus_ was, but given the word’s construction and the fact that Raven’s features, and certainly her hair colour, seemed a little unstable, he guessed this had to do with her appearance and assumed he didn’t need to ask. Raven went on.

“Brian facilitates the transition between our worlds. He makes sure that, if our muggle families can’t handle us, we have a place to call home.” Her eyes widened and she took a confidential tone. “He's the first muggle ever to receive the Order of Merlin.” 

“Oh.” Charles had an incredulous laugh – he didn’t know much about the Order of Merlin either, but it sounded like a big deal. “Isn't that an achievement.” He said ironically. “Does it say on his award that he abandoned his own son in the process of saving other orphans? He’s right, what difference does it make to help one or the other. Why should he favour the one who’s been given to him by something as random as birth.”

He was over-talking to prevent himself from starting to cry. Raven’s round face tensed as if she was herself holding back tears, waves of feelings that were too strong for her.

“I'm not saying-” She started, closed her mouth, and started again with more determination. “What I'm trying to say is that I feel betrayed and disappointed right now. I can't imagine what you must be feeling. I thought he was this hero, and I wanted you to know that he is, in a way, but I'm on your side. He's an asshole for what he did to you.”

Hearing the insult in the mouth of a nine year-old girl, whose hair was turning an alarming green now, was finally what cracked Charles up, and he burst out laughing. Raven looked confused, and downright shocked when Charles pulled her into a hug. 

“Thank you.” He said. “This is what I imagine having a sister would be like – siding with me against my parents.”

A smile bloomed on Raven's face.

“Is that an offer?” She asked. 

“Yeah.” Charles laughed. “You said you're muggle-born too but you seem to know more about this world than I do for now – I could use a witch sister.” He calmed down, almost embarrassed suddenly. “I understand you're not going to Hogwarts yet, but we could write?”

He had let her go, but she hugged him again, as tight as a promise.

“I'll write every week.”


End file.
